


Inamorato

by kaotiskplatonisk



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Agonophilia, BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, DJD Doin' Their DJD Thing, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Painplay, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Slight Sadomasochism, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3699692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaotiskplatonisk/pseuds/kaotiskplatonisk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Peaceful Tyranny is suffering some confusion in the power dynamic department. But don't worry, it's just... Tarn and Kaon, exploring their version of 'lover'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mendicent

**Author's Note:**

> Before anything, let me clarify: this is, to the extent of my knowledge, a safe portrayal of BDSM. I wrote this in response to my friend's insistence that 50SoG wasn't "that bad" with it's misrepresentation of BDSM etiquette, and to my other friend, who actually is a Dominant and was very upset by that remark. Also, because I like seeing safe, healthy portrayals of BDSM relationships and having it be DJD-centric just sweetens the pot for me.  
> To any BDSM-curious or anyone new-to-the-scene of BDSM, I strongly encourage proper, thorough research of the topic, not just taking my word or E. L. James' to use as foundation. In fact, why don't you actually go buy a copy of 50 Shades, write your name in it, and then launch it at the fucking sun. Yes. Good plan.  
> Muse-ic is Nicotine by Panic! At the Disco.  
> Cheers!

  The cleanse was a high in of itself, full-bodied and _right_ , almost erotic in how it made him shiver. Kaon gave a last lingering gout of electrical pulse to his victim, dumping the half-ravaged frame to pool at his pedes as he transformed. The ends of his arm rests were sore from where the filthy traitor had scrabbled with curled digits, trying with hopeless desperation to find purchase, anchor, to ride out his agony.

"Vos," Tarn murmured, just the faintest smoke trail of sound, but the trembling frame at Kaon's pedes let out a rippling scream regardless. He was weak, which was diappointing, really. The ones who disillusioned themselves with their strength, clung to life, were the most fun to toy with and then decimate entirely. The ones resigned to death were almost boring.

"If you would do the honors?" The little rifle slid out from behind the broad expanse of his unitmate, svelte limbs backlit by the blue-green moonlight that made his optics glow horribly. The shade of iron-fed fire, dancing delighted as he knelt in front of his victim and crooned, disengaging the fastens on his faceplate. Kaon smiled at the few words in Neocybex Vos managed in his chattering, static-hazed and drawn out to near-obscurity, the pile of armor at his pedes whimpering little lost noises of anguish and terror. Vos never made quick work of his assignments, so Kaon resigned himself to stand between Helex and Tarn for the next joor or so, oddly at ease between two titanic frames that had become far more familiar to him than he would have liked. Helex was warm against the Ketochyberian midnight winds, his smelter a pulsing beacon of heat. Tarn stood a pace off, uncomfortable with the proximity the rest of his unit shared, but every so often his optics would flicker over Kaon's frame, making sure he was still there, that he was alright.

The outer curls of his tesla coils were scorched, long sinuous shadows against the chrome metal. Kaon carefully leaned away from Helex, not trusting his frame, anticipating its betrayal. This was the third victim in an orn, the third round of 'shock therapy' in as long. Electricity was a fickle thing.

Vos chittered when the screaming finally tapered into silence, disappointed. His digits flashed over the energon-slickened gouges he'd wrought, picking a few ribbons of carnage from the spiral needles on the reverse of his faceplate. He offered the dripping, carrion-scented mess to Kaon with apparent satisfaction as Helex dipped the still-squirming frame into his smelter, letting it taste the molten fire.

"An inspired performance," Kaon agreed, laughing at Vos' exaggerated gestures. He took the plate and refit it into the hollow below Vos' helm, making sure the optics realigned in their sockets.

"I see. The sensornet last, then? To reduce shock. And the stress put on the vocoder? Hn."

"Kaon." Tarn's voice carried over the desertscape, past Tesarus' animated conversation with Helex about super-heated grinder blades, muted, frantic thumps echoing from inside the smelter pit. The tank stood poised at the _Peaceful Tyranny's_ dock, the tense angle of his shoulders at odds with the cold fire in his optics. Vos batted his servos away, refastening his faceplate. About as obvious a dismissal as Kaon was likely to get from the gunformer. Tarn waited for him, drawn to full height and digits ticcing in a gesture of impatience, shadowed by the hull of the _Peaceful Tyranny_. His voice was an undercurrent.

"You disobeyed me." Kaon's dynamo lurched, spinning in nervous prestissimo.

"I sanctioned thirteen helawatts. You used sixteen."

"I was… overeager." Tarn's optics slitted into bloodred shards.

"Control, Kaon." Kaon bowed his helm, deference written in the lines of his frame. He shuddered as a careful brush of armor-capped knuckles lit a line of fire down the curve of one finial.

"You know I don't like to reprimand you," Tarn murmured, digits playing absently with the cabling of his neck, tracing the routes of raised wires.

"It won't happen again." Kaon promised between uncertain exvents and the whirl of his generator.

"I don't believe you."

Kaon glanced up, sharp and glaring. Tarn's servo dropped, drawing a finger of electricity to snap across one of his coils. Instead he sought one of Kaon's servos, curling his digits into a broad palm and flashing a thumb over knuckles.

"Convince me?" Tarn said, and brought Kaon's servo to his faceplate, watching him. Kaon shivered under the warmth of his vents. The only complaint he had was when Tarn bent to scoop him up in one arm, smooth and graceful, to restrung to the _Peacefully Tyranny_.

 

Kaon arched, kicking out, lashing at the curve of hips above him with the wicked tips of his pedes. Tarn hissed, low and forbidding, the bruising grip on his wrists tightening until plating groaned and buckled. Knee joints the width of his torso bracketed his frame, ruthless servos held him in place.

 _"Yield,_ " Tarn growled, and even that was bliss, sharp pleasure-pain like the electricity unfurling from Kaon's coils. He writhed under the presence above him, the pressure of a spike housing grinding hard into his interface panel. Tarn rested their forehelms together, watching his lover struggle with dark-tinted amusement, chuckling when Kaon nipped at his chin.

"No!" Kaon snarled. Tarn shifted, engulfing two slender wrists with one servo, freeing the other to tease at the generator housing in his chassis, thumb tracing the curvature of the metal before dipping lower as the roar of overworked fans rewarded him. Kaon gasped, searing lines of pleasure drawn along the seams of his panel, hips pistoning under Tarn's digits. Hot, thin ribbons of lubricant licked down his cover, the heat in his valve almost torturous. His frame begged him for friction, release, anything, coils snapping with excess charge. He balled his servos into fists, because he didn't trust himself not to unload unholy electrical fury onto Tarn if he didn't.

"Open for me," Tarn purred, faceplate brushing a finial, "or I open you."

Kaon snarled at him in reply. His disobedience was met with a sharp flick against his panel. Kaon shrieked, coils crackling, arching up and hooking his knee struts around Tarn's hips, drawing him down. But his field conveyed nothing but untethered desire, and no safeword was forthcoming. Tarn proceeded cognizant of both these factors and their ability to change at any time.

"Beg me." Tarn commanded, his voice still achingly sweet and low, shooting through Kaon's cabling like liquid fire. His servo cupped Kao's panel. He turned his faceplate into the join of his lover's neck and shoulder and hummed. Kaon screamed at the torrent of pleasure-pain that pulsed through him, so close to tipping him over the edge, so close that it _hurt_.

 _"Please!"_ Kaon sobbed, knees pressed hard into Tarn's waist, "Please, anything, please!"

His panel snapped open so quickly the clasps ached, baring the wet glisten of his array. Tarn sighed, content and amused with his little toy, rubbing a thumb across the seam of a slim wrist until static shock rippled through him. Tarn's other servo lingered over the edges of Kaon's panel, drawing a lazy path upward, over his generator, mapping the outline of his lips. Wet glitter shone in the half-light, a smear of lubricant coating his lower lip, biting down hard to keep the needy little sound from escaping his vocoder. He could taste his own charge, heady and sweet on his mouth. Tarn's thumb caresses the dip of his nasal ridge and the edges of his optical sockets, almost religious in his reverence, in his careful, delicate motions. Kaon growled and squirmed, gnashing his dentae.

"Anything?" Tarn whispers into his throat. Kaon whimpers. The pressure on his wrists is released, leaving him with no anchor or purchase. He scrambles gracelesly until he feels broad palms holding down his thighs, wrenched to the side and away from his panel, spread open almost too far. Tarn nuzzles at the juncture of his hip and leg, letting Kaon's pedes hook over his tank treads. Kaon screeches, partially melted into binary static, as Tarn presses his faceplate against his lubricant-soaked entrance and growls. The vibration tears through him, sending electricity arching through the hyperconductive berth and into Tarn. The tankformer stiffens but doesn't stutter, digits teasing the rim of his entrance, mesh pleats irising in desperation. Kaon cries out when one digit curls inside, tearing a line of fire through his valve, calipers cycling down around the intrusion violently, but it's not enough, and it's _torture._ Tarn toys with him, curling and thrusting to hit every node in Kaon's body, caressing the valve ceiling and spreading him open. Kaon has played this game before with him, this pleasure-addled agony. Tarn is too big, his own frame too small. Kaon's vocoder is a mess, his lips forming a relentless litany, an entreaty, screaming and writhing, electricity pulsating through him and off him in waves. Tarn gasps as they rock through him, but presses on, never faltering, sliding in a second digit. Kaon's hips buck helplessly. His valve is spread by the digits almost too far, heated pain blossoming within, sharp as Tarn holds him open, growling and snarling into the thin metal of the inside of his thigh, chuckling as Kaon screeches in binary desperation.

When Tarn enters him it's a supernova-bright pleasure, skirting the thin red line of excruciating bliss. Kaon rocks forward with it, sealing them together up to the hilt. Tarn exvents harshly, leaning forward to enfold his frame with the smaller one below him, murmuring quiet praises into his audial as he pulls back slowly, mindful of the delicate mesh pressing hot and tight around his spike. Kaon scrambles to find purchase on his armor, the touch of his servos sending new rippling strains of electricity through him, gripping the plating of his waist with vicelike intensity.

"You are beautiful," Tarn whispers, slamming in hard, fast, their hips ricocheting together. Kaon sobs, leveraging himself into it, moaning when he pulls out again, ghosting the tip of his spike over the sopping rim of Kaon's valve. The smaller mech shudders, his frame rolling with it, vocoder whining in exertion and undiluted desire. Tarn pistons into him, catching Kaon off-guard, pace brutal, spike tapping ceiling nodes hard enough to make them scream agony-bliss, the force of him bowing Kaon's frame up off the berth. He cries broken, tiny noises, calipers clutching at a spike that moves too quickly, breaches him with carnal abandon, visceral pain and pleasure.

"So obedient," Tarn purrs to him, servos cupping his coils through the blitzkrieg of electricity. Kaon's valve tightens, his grip on Tarn's shoulders and waist tightening.

"I want to see you," Tarn says, turning his jaw and holding him still as he thrusts in once more, withdrawing slow, making him ache, and crushing their frames back together. Kaon's overload is harsh ecstasy, an oblivion of pleasure that pulls him under, chokes him, makes him wail and keen, tremoring through his struts, a beautiful fire. His frame gives under the force of it, unloading the charge in his coils and palms, ripping through Tarn with far more than sixteen helawatts. Transfluid empties out into him in long, vigorous spurts, flashing across his overstimulated valve nodes like a dousing of acid, pulling him under into an overload aftershock, pressure and heat and release. Tarn lifts him, gentle, and pivots to lay back. He cradles Kaon to him, depressurized spike still connecting them. He shivers, a molten kind of contentment surging through him, digits caressing his lover's faceplate. Kaon mumbles something against his chassis and wriggles further into the curve of his arms.

"Hm?" Tarn says, optics flickering offline as he lays his helm back against the wall. Small, reverent digits map his faceplate, the lightest brush of lips against the overheated metal.

"Convincing enough?" Kaon repeats, slipping himself off of Tarn's spike. The tankformer shivers at the loss.

"I am not entirely swayed," Tarn informs him, nuzzling into his neck when Kaon laughs. They make their exchange, as they always do, using their private comm frequency. Tarn assures his smaller lover that no, the electric feedback was not too much; yes, he liked the resistance. Kaon in turn assures the tankformer that yes, he enjoyed playing the submissive; no, it wasn't too rough. It was habitual, by now, not coddling or derisive: an interstice to regroup, reaffirm, just as they would do on any regular field mission. Kaon slowly melts into the nonsense patterns Tarn traces along his forehelm crest.

Then the lights go out.

Tarn snarls his displeasure. Kaon squirms and manages to construct an expression not too dissimilar to embarrassment.

"I might have overloaded the circuits." He explains.

Tarn holds him through their laughter, faceplate against forehelm crest, EM fields meshing like there was no one else in the universe to worry about.


	2. Praesidium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains very brief violence, and, well, untranslated non-canon Primal Vernacular (handy dandy translation hint in the end credits, though ^^;).

While making rounds at Delphi, Kaon was indefinitely confined to the _Peaceful Tyranny_ , running comms checks and monitoring official channels that passed through the hospital with all the finesse and efficacy of Soundwave. In duller moments he would sometimes sit and reorder the List, cross-referencing profile files, attaching sighting reports and bounty updates.

There was a reason for his probation, because Tarn had sanctioned it himself, and suspending any of his unitmates was not something he did lightly.

Delphi lent Kaon to a downright demonic mood, unfailingly. He helped Vos screen the t-cogs that were boarded onto the ship, monitored the specified comm links and hacked the ones that had been reencrypted from their last docking, and electrocuted anyone who was dumb enough to invade a twelve mechanometer radius of him. He radiated electricity, black optical sockets more unnerving than usual with the amount of murderous intensity he carried, keeping the Pet close by his heel struts. Even Tarn gave him some iota of space once they touched down.

The first time they'd cornered Pharma and Tarn had weaponized his voice into producing a deal between them, he'd left no mech in wait on the ship. Kaon had hovered to Tesarus' right, making spiderwebs of electricity crackle across his coils and down his arms. He wasn't physically intimidating in the way Helex or Tarn were, but his unique brand of terror was more than enough to compete. Vos had made subtle, barely-there gestures against one thigh, pinning the pretty medic with a stare that could send mecha into sparkfailure. Kaon stiffled bouts of laughter by ramping up the output on his coils, reading their special flavor of sign language through Vos' servo.

But Pharma was beautiful, and dauntless, fierce in his negotiations and unrelenting in his acerbic wit. Kaon was torn between wanting to punt him through a wall and wanting to frag him through one.

Then he had faced Tarn squarely and cocked his helm, faint ghost of a smirk on his faceplates as he cooed, "I'm looking forward to what you deliver to this partnership."

Kaon moved like a lightning strike.

Vos screeched at him in bastardized Neocybex, Helex and Tesarus immediately poised to hold the slim gunformer back if he decided to brawl. It would take both of them to keep him from tearing into Pharma. It would take much more to make Kaon stop. Pharma bit down on an agonized wail as Kaon clawed at the joint connecting his wings to the armor over his spinal strut, grinding a knee strut into the dip in his back and pressing in until the medic's legs buckled and he fell forward. Kaon's servos spat electric fury through his pinned victim, tearing at wings and digging into neck cabling. Pharma choked on a scream.

"If you touch him," Kaon hisses, wrath coloring his vocoder and EM field violent crimson, "I will _tear these off_ and make you eat them, make you watch me rip your clever little servos into shreds. You touch him, you look at him, you _think about him_ , and _I will eviscerate you."_

"Kaon." Tarn barked, flinty and cold. Kaon's coils crackled at him in defiance, digits curling around the joint between frame and wing. It would be so easy, a roll of his wrist strut, make the pretty medic fear him.

 **"Knarrr, nava'tsssuk!"** Vos growled. Kaon's lips hitched.

 **"D'vedt, sssssK-goln. Knarrr."** Tarn's engine snarled.

Kaon tightened his hold, once, briefly, then slid to his pedes and regarded Tarn coolly.

"To the ship. Now." The tankformer's voice was ice, curling around his spark like a shard of liquid nitrogen. Vos hissed at Helex and Tesarus, keeping a step behind Kaon's shoulder as they quit the office.

Vos said nothing until they reached the _Tyranny_ , simply miming at Kaon what he thought of his outburst. Despite himself, Kaon laughed, an ugly, twisted sound that made his dentae clench with fury. Vos slipped aboard and waited for Kaon, unreadable, tapped a pede and gestured to the corridor, quick and sharp, impatient.

"No." He needed work. He needed to drown in work, and not think of clever red digits on his lover's frame, _his_ , only his, or the trembling of wings caught in pleasure, the murmured dulcet praises saved for _him_ , promised to _him_. Vos chittered at him, acidic as ever. Mocking. Kaon growled at him, throwing himself into his station's chair.

**"Knarrr."**

Kaon snapped at him in binary, the screech of it heavy and good against his vocoder. Vos made no noise when he approached, silent as a cemetery and watching him with curious optics. Then he began to talk. Kaon stiffened as Vos sat down in front of him, legs folded in a way only a mech as slight as he was could have managed, gesturing in assured, controlled motions that cut through Kaon's EM field like knives, vocoder rasping, lilting, ebbing and flowing around the harsh consonants of Primal Vernacular. Kaon found himself fixed on the smaller mech's servos, the calm and the strength in his motions, painting meaning to his words. He could make a few of the gestures out in the flurry, but Vos spoke quickly and they became a riot, a chaos of pure motion. Kaon mimed a few words back, responded when Vos slowed down enough to ask if he was listening, ask how to translate a word from the Vernacular to Neocybex, enough to take his mind off of the silver-glossa'd flightframe negotiating with their unitmates a handful of hundred mechanometers away. Kept him engaged with their servo games, fluttering and sweeping, laughing as Kaon fumbled on a phrase, lost his train of thought, had to start over.

When it was done Kaon sat on the floor of the darkened _Tyranny_ with Vos, finding middle ground in stories half-spoken and half-signed. Tarn boarded the ship again with rage on his glossa, permeating every line and angle of his frame, voice a cold constriction. Kaon stood and took it, sightless optical sockets fixed on the tankformer's pedes, Vos at one shoulder. Never touching him, because he still couldn't trust his own frame, letting his EM field hazard near the smaller mech's. Vos said nothing about it, but didn't retract his field, steady and unmoveable, even through the wash of disgust that ran through him at being in such close proximity to another. Kaon was silent throughout departure, but when he caught Vos cocking his helm at him, gestured once, brief and succinct, against his leg.

'Thank you.'

Whenever they enter orbit around Delphi after that first brutal introduction, Kaon busies himself with arranging the List and monitoring feeds, cooing at the Pet as she rips the spark from the chamber of the last victim they'd tended to, wires trailing in all directions, shattering it between razorblade fangs. And when no one is paying attention to him anymore, Vos slips away, helps load the cargo onto the _Tyranny_ , sits with Kaon and pantomimes stories at him, letting the other's EM field cling to his digits, read his gestures.

Tarn always comes back, always on time, never spends a moment farther from Kaon in the company of that infuriating medic than he has to, always catches the curve of a coil or long digits in his own, reassuring, reaffirming. After the second trip Kaon waits until Tarn takes the command chair before approaching him, poised and fierce. Tarn tracks him with his optics, from the communications station to a pace away from his own frame, and for a delicate moment he thinks Kaon might actually do it, unleash his jealous wrath right there. Instead, Kaon looks up at him, and in one smooth motion climbs onto his lap, curled up against the vast plane of his chassis. Tarn cants his helm, a servo finding the familiar juncture of hip and waist on instinct. Kaon leans up, biting hard at his chin, and kisses his faceplate with a sort of determined resolve that has Tarn a little flustered. Helex coughs and turns away. Tesarus rolls his optics. From the back of the bridge, Vos calls out.

**"D'vedt."**

Kaon chuckles and slings his legs over one of Tarn's, watching the viewport tessellate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned.
> 
> \- In kaotisk headcanon, "Knarrr" is used as a sort of t'hy'la catch-all term, or as close as the DJD can come to it. "D'vet"... Well. I'll leave that one up for you to decide.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned.


End file.
